


Rather Misbehave

by 655321



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Light Bondage, Mark Strong Fandom, Non-Penetrative Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 21:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/655321/pseuds/655321
Summary: "Now, are you going to be good?" His face was stone, his eyes glistening in the darkness.And she thought of her Archy, soft and warm, the lover of tea and snuggles. Happy enough to fall asleep in her lap while she read. This wasn't his game. It was his job, and per her request, he obliged to bring it home to her occasionally.





	Rather Misbehave

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out, lads. I'm back on my shit.  
> Playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3xA5sitGyAET90q5MyiV1VBf5By6RsWe

"You're fucking beautiful when you're angry, have I ever told you tha'?"

"What the fuck, Arch?" she blustered, choosing not to acknowledge the sincere glint of his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, my darling. I knew you wouldn't come if I told you."

He stepped into her space then, a hand on her hip.

"You're fucking right about that. I am going to tear you limb from bloody limb for this."

"I have something to look forward to then."

He brushed his lips against her neck and told her, "you look like a fucking queen" in a dark tone sweeter than honey. He kissed her mouth, wondering if she'd soften once they parted. She didn't. She fucking melted right into his kiss, but when he pulled away, her face was still stone cold. 

"Are we playing the game already?" he asked, keen.

She gave a nod, a quirk of the eyebrow and a smirk towards a pleased affirmative. Then, cold. "You think you can keep up?"

She meant it in the rhetorical, but a dark grin overtook Archy's face. "Oh, yes. I'm up for it, love. The question is, are you ready for your orders?"

She smiled brightly and smoothed her fingers along his tie. "What do you want me to do, Daddy?"

Archy bit back the fullness of his smile, telling her, softly, "I want you to be sweet. Be polite. Be friendly and proper. You are not to touch me or yourself until we get home, is that understood?"

"At all?" she whined.

"You know what I mean. You can touch my hand," he took her hand in his and held it briefly between their bodies. "Or kiss me, but only a peck."

"You're no fun, Archy."

"And I don't want to hear your backtalk. Sweet and polite. Do you understand what you're to do?"

"Yes, sir."

Too perfunctory. He didn't like it.

"And will you do as I've told you?"

He watched her training take over, her body compose itself until the composure reached her face and she beamed at him. 

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He touched his lips to hers as if to demonstrate the aforementioned peck. 

A hand on her back, he guided her into the room proper. 

"Lenny," dutifully she greeted Archy's boss, "so good to see you, as always."

\---

She hated this sort of thing. Avoided it whenever she could. It's not as though she were a fucking necessary addition to this ridiculous gathering, all pompous pricks with too much money to spend in shady avenues of dodgy business. When Arch had called her (come out to dinner with me, he'd said) only in her worst fucking nightmare could this have been what she'd expected. Some big, snooty wine and dine with a too-big table crowded with boring people. If that weren't bad enough, even in the crowd Lenny fucking Cole dominated the conversation, and there was she, dying of fucking boredom before they'd even got past appetizers. She thought of Lenny more or less as a snoring, half-dead old dog - just there out of habit (give 'im a kick, is he still alive?), out of negligence of change on the part of whipped underlings. But it's always easier to take orders than to give 'em. Poor sods even take a pride in it - "the old school." Why Archy had any loyalty for the man...she'd've fucking swallowed loyalty and replaced it with ambition ages ago. But Archy's like that. Loyal. To a fucking fault. One of many things she adores about the man.

She's not cut out for this business. Too much bullshit. There was no glamor in it. Yeah, she'd kill people for money, but that's fairly straightforward, innit? You have a name and I have a gun. The right price, and the job's done. That's it. Another thing she admired about Archy - he got the job done. And that was the bottom fucking line. The rest of it, fucking bullshit. Obedience. Tradition. She'd do without it, thanks.

The exception, of course, to her particular anti-authoritarian feelings, was this. Their game. She’d never done this before - it was not her usual thing. Something about Archy brought it out in her.

Over a dainty bite of fish she peeks at him peripherally, sitting catty-corner to her. She catches him eyeing her chest without much discretion. He brings his eyes to hers promptly. She takes a pull from her wine and drops her hand to her lap. Sweetly, he covers it with his own, slipping his long fingers around hers to stroke her palm. They each carry on with dinner etiquette, briefly one-handed. Business draws Arch back into the fold inevitably. She gives an eager nod to a waiter and the man refills her glass. She resists draining it on the spot and requesting another. Some other boy's bird initiates small talk and she tries to be amiable. Her hand is still warm from Archy's. She rests it on her thigh, slowly easing it under her hem. It settles between her legs and she crosses one over it, letting it sit there, her thighs clutching it warmly. Its proximity to her core makes her playful. Just a tease. Just a taste. To start her thinking. A sensual little thing. Sensual like Arch's dress shirt, a purplish-grey and soft as sin. It would be flawlessly smooth and cool under her fingers, as though the fabric was ambivalent to the hot body it covered. She huffed a sigh that became a discreet clearing of the throat. She nodded along to whatever the woman across from her was saying. After a long moment she clenched her jaw and withdrew the hand from between her thighs, re-crossing her legs and settling in. 

The group thinned. Not enough. Meal finished, relocation to the bar was in order. She was tipsy on her heels and thankful for Archy's hand on her back for many reasons. The bar offered wide, semi-circular booth seating, all plush and leather. This, she could get behind. The smoky air and dim lighting was much more her speed.

As they sit, Arch slides a hand across her calf, then her knee, and thigh. The teasing hand retracts when he goes back to talking business. She orders a drink significantly stronger than table wine. Emboldened by the liquor (fucking finally) she puts a hand on Archy's thigh. He leaves it at first, giving her a stern glance. He waits, to see if she will correct her misstep. She doesn't. The longer she's made to wait, her fingers start kneading at the fabric, skimming flesh unseen. Drunkenly luxuriating in it, her fingertips slide across his lap. Pleasingly, she finds him rather firm. She gives him a squeeze through his trousers and he hesitates for only a breath before his hand comes down on her wrist. Sternly, he deposits her hand back into her own lap. Fucking painful is what it is, but in the end it's fucking worth it. His hand lingers, as if to keep a moment's watch over hers. He aims a sharp look at her.

"Wait," he says, leaning into her ear.

Then a question is fielded his way and he answers it, talking with his hands. 

Indignant, she watched Arch's face as he spoke. The words slipped away and she nursed her drink and felt his voice and his body heat. He was so near, for a while with one arm stretched behind her along the edge of the booth. She watched his neck, the adam's apple bobbing gently as he exhales a laugh, and Christ, his smile. His shirt collar mirrored the curve of his clavicle. His nipples were peaked under the shirt, stretched tautly across his chest. 

She sank down into the seat a bit, smiling at the crystal glass in her hand reflecting the amber liquid inside into colorful little diamonds. She tried to sneak a hand into her lap, going to give herself something in earnest this time. 

"Sit up straight," Archy put a gentle reprimand in her ear. Keen as always, he added, "And put your hands on the table."

She did as she was told, with as much grace as she could muster. 

"Good."

He kissed her neck and she hated him. She fucking loved it. She consoled herself with thinking of ways to exact revenge. But she was drunk on this. Granted, booze too, but this. Him reining her in. Winding her up. And he did it so well. Just for her. This wasn't Archy's game. He played for her.

There's a moment of distraction at the table, conversations fluctuating their volume around the bar in a strangely harmonious cacophony. She takes the moment and drops one hand off the table. She strokes her thumb along her inner thigh. The pad of her index finger plucks gently at the hood of her clit through her panties. She's so primed and drunk to boot, she whimpers a little and Archy's hand clamps around her forearm.

"If you don't behave-"

His voice. She was throbbing, a heat rising through her body from the core. 

"-then I'll have to discipline you."

Her eyes were half-lidded and there was a rumble in her chest when she replied, "Arch-"

He put a heavy hand on her neck and waited out the moment, monitoring the table and being utterly discreet. He hadn't enough hands to stop hers and she slid one into his lap. 

"Stop," he told her.

His voice made her shiver. She could let herself be half afraid of him, when he used that voice. She didn't stop. Her fingers played along his clothed shaft.

He bit her. Hard and definitive at the junction of neck and shoulder. Where he'd kissed her with "good" before. She was whining and she could have thrown her body over his but that he let the pressure of his teeth drift into pain. The bite was still aching when she heard his voice again.

"Shut your mouth and put your hands on the table."

She swallowed a grunt along with the last of the drink. 

"This is your last chance. If you can be patient, you'll be rewarded. You're pushing it. But I can let it go, if you're perfect until we get home. Now, are you going to be good?"

His face was stone, his eyes glistening in the darkness. He looked very stern, like he was ready to give her a slap if she didn't mind him. She fucking loved it. And she wanted what he had to offer - the reward of his obedience. And she thought of her Archy, soft and warm, the lover of tea and snuggles. Happy enough to fall asleep in her lap while she read. This wasn't his game. It was his job, and per her request, he obliged to bring it home to her occasionally. 

She could never just be good. It would spoil all the fun. No. She'd make sure they were up all night. So she smiled back at him, wicked.

"Yes, Arch," she honed in on his lips, muttering against them, "I'll be good," while she kissed him and slid her hand under his jacket so her fingers could tweak a pert nipple. 

He almost accepted it. Clearly wanted to. He was hard. She was expecting him to tell her on the cab ride home how he wanted to take her over this table with everyone watching. 

The kiss was not inconspicuous. Hoots and hollers rose up from the table and their exit was imminent now. He couldn't hold her anymore. She'd won, and she looked forward to whatever penance he dreamed up for her. 


End file.
